


Journalist. Provocateur. Lover.

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Competition, Interviews, Multi, Orgy, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jon wants is the chance to ask the members of Free Play a few questions. What he gets is so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journalist. Provocateur. Lover.

**Author's Note:**

> This was obviously heavily inspired by On The Spot #49, Death of the Golden Gus. As soon as I watched it, I instantly needed to write a fic. A few quotes are taken directly from the ep.

This is Jon's first off campus party this year, so far. Finding out about it was pure unadulterated luck, it wasn’t advertised on paper anywhere, wasn’t even talked up amongst the students. However, the older brother of one of his writers is the host. Freshmen working on the zine, as a rule, try to impress and honour their leaders, and Erik had ended up inviting him to the party. 

As is natural with a leader, he has friends separate from his minions. It doesn’t take three seconds from getting the frantic in person invitation, full of stumbling words and manic hand gestures, to go ahead and text Patrick and JJ. Technically that makes them thrice removed crashers, but Jon doesn't work with technicalities.

For all that no one Jon knows has heard about this party, the house is full. Well, some would call it a house. Jon has thrifty sensibilities, and this place looks like it probably has seven bedrooms and six attached baths. A fucking mansion if you ask him. The noise level from the street is bearable, but the lights in the open curtained window spanning the half the length of the front of the house are strobing. Jon imagines he’ll be drunk within the hour, drunk and jumping to whatever pop garbage is playing.

Debatably the best part about having zine contributors who are half in love with you, platonic worship-your-brain love, is the gathering of information. Every minion knows good details are the best tithe they can offer. Only moments after Jon enters the Portman house, friends in tow, Erik frantically waves him over. Despite having vested interest in getting a cup of beer so he can blend in and not get booted for crashing, Jon figures he has to go. Erik looks to be having heart palpitations. For the same reasons it isn't particularly safe for Patrick and JJ to stand around either, especially without some liquid courage hand, so they follow. 

Erik doesn't speak when they reach the other side of the room. Instead he sprints up the carpeted stairs that are doomed to be black with shoe-grime by the end of the night. Jon, an equal mix irritated and curious, follows the younger man.

“What, man? Is there a code word or something we need to know before they’ll tap the keg? What is it?” Jon demands at the apex of the stairs. There’s only so much he can take before he’s gotta give the kid a whap to the head.

“Free Play is here!” Erik whisper shouts. 

“Ohhh,” is Patrick’s sole contribution. JJ doesn’t react at all. Jon, on the other hand, has had an instantaneous complete one eighty in attitude. Fuck getting messed up at this party, drunkenly jotting down notes on his phone about Greatest Hammered Moments Ever as he questions other partiers. He owes it to the readers of On The Spot to interrogate the coolest group on campus.

“Look, I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

Patrick grins and claps him on the back. “Go for it, man. Get it.”

Jon is going to. He will. He’ll find Meg and Tyler and Ryan and Mariel and get the best damn interview he’s ever done. And when he does, everyone in the university  
will toss down five bucks for this issue and he’ll not only cover its costs, but be in the green for future issues. What a beautiful world.

He spots Mariel first. She’s dancing on a coffee table with a handful of other women, wearing a shirt dress and leggings. Jon wades through the mass of people dancing and watching, but doesn’t quite know what to do when he reaches the piece of furniture. Tug on her skirt like he’s a preschooler trying to get his mom’s attention?

Luckily he doesn’t have to worry about it long. “Just shout hi,” someone says into his ear, voice pitched to be heard over the bass without blowing out his eardrum. The person is pressed up against him, from chin to chest to hip, probably a male because of the noticeable lack of boobs. Any other party night and Jon’d dance with him/them. Today he’s on a mission, and whoever it is has a point.

“Hey. Mariel?” Jon shouts over the music, looking up at the sexy Mexican American above him.

“Yeah?” She shouts back, body still rocking to the bass.

“Could I talk to you and the rest of Free Play? It’d only take like ten minutes. I’ll pour you your next solo cup?”

“Well, Tyler’s right there. But yeah, sure. I’ll text Meg.” Mariel sticks out her hand for a stable post to jump down, and Jon happily helps. Anything to look like less of a jerk for not noticing the hot rock hard body behind him was one of the four people he’s proclaimed to want.

A few minutes of basic communication later and Ryan’s directing them to a quieter space at the back of the house. It’s one of those rooms not meant for people. Vintage chairs and vases on pedestals and a genuine mounted gun with a gold plaque underneath to tell you why. Erik’s older brother did not think this houseparty through. Jon feel a little guilty sitting on the tufted armchair -who the fuck knows what era it came from, and how expensive it was to restore- but frankly the Portmans are getting off easy. He’s wearing brand new tennis shoes. 

Tyler and Mariel take the chaise. It’s tufted too, but a deep burgundy as compared to Jon’s steel grey piece. Meg, in a show of complete indifference to the rich vibe of everything in the room, sits cross legged on the thin wood coffee table.

“So what’s up?”

“I assume this is for your newsletter, right?”

“Zine,” Jon corrects. “Yeah. In case the rest of you don’t know, me and a handful of others write and illustrate and design On The Spot. It’s kind of like improv writing. Quirky, not preplanned interviews, getting strangers’ best stories on a theme, writing and art challenges.”

There’s no point in asking them why do what they do. It’s in their Facebook manifesto. Free Play engages in acts of guerilla FUNfare. They spring silly stunts on mostly willing participants in random locations because they think everyone’s day can use some absurdity, and not everyone is gonna go read Jasper Fforde. From handless pie eating contests, to group votes with actual ballots and confetti for the winner about who has a better viral video, to ‘use these random ingredients to make something that might taste like a pumpkin spice latte’, it’s really caught on. It’s becoming a bragging right to say you were involved in a Free Play event.

“I usually do five questions, so one for each and then a group answer?” Jon gets no objections to the format, so he tosses his first question in the air to see who goes for it. “Grossest thing that’s ever happened during a stunt.”

Meg leans forward a bit. “Back in January we had this massive competition for who could shave the most legible shape into a furry guy’s chest. Like fifty pairs showed up.”

Jon’s eyes naturally squint as he tries to think back to the last school year. “I think I remember that?”

“Do you remember one of the losing guys eating the hair of the guy he just shaved? I puked in my mouth, a little.”

“Tell me the event that changed your college experience most.”

Tyler laughs. “Easy. My oreolization.”

“The fuck is that?” Jon asks. It’s not the most professional way to get an explanation, but then again, professional probably wouldn’t go over too well with this group. Their entire reason for existing is to mess around and be funny.

“Okay, so it’s when you bring a black friend to the club, and you find another black guy, and you have sex with them.”

The entire room bursts into laughter and questions about where exactly the sex happens, and which club it is. Jon writes a few keywords into his notes app and prays they’ll trigger everything correctly in three hours when JJ and Patrick are ready to go home. 

“Some people say that your thing is like mash up between flash mobbing, and improv. Thoughts on either?”

Ryan takes it. “Well, I’ve done theatre, and I’ve done it’s slutty drunk cousin, improv. I was good at the first, not so much at the second.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I...kind of kept throwing in ‘deep space’ as a prompt? All the time? I really pissed off the rest of my crew. So I guess that’s a good thing about how we’re different than either. If we’re convincing an entire classroom of nursing students to cosplay with items we’ve brought in a few laundry baskets, I can’t suddenly scream deep space and make six people want to stab me in the face.”

“Holy shit, you have to tell me your best ‘deep space’ story right now,” Meg demands, lightly punching Ryan for emphasis.

The next five minutes are an absolute fucking delight. Ryan’s no Sherlock, but he has a strong enough memory to be more fine details than broad strokes, and he paints a hilarious fucking picture that Jon tries to copy as close to word for word as he can. It’s a terrible wall of text in his notes, but he’ll parse it later. And the mood snowballs, because Mariel’s answer to his fourth question has him laughing hard he’s choking on his spit. 

For his last question, Jon decides to cheat a bit. If he asks something that necessitates different answers from each Free Play member, that’s like getting three free questions. It’ll absolutely pad his article, without bothering them too much. “One thing you think your audience wants to know.”

“Do we have a set schedule that we could post? No. Do we have a preplanned series of locations that we can print off Mapquest maps for you? _No_.” Mariel repeats with more emphasis. “Do we know what we’re doing when and where and why and how? Ehhh, about three of those things. Unless we require certain equipment, or certain participation standards, which is rare, we go places when we think of something fun. You can pelt our Facebook page with demands for concrete answers as much as you want, but honestly, no. Chill.”

“Uh huh.” Jon’s not hardly surprised by their lack of organisation. Careful scheduling hardly sounds like bombarding the university and surrounding town with absurdity. Real fans should already know that. His written summary of Mariel’s answer is going to be derisive as fuck.

“It’s funny, like both of these pairings like, everybody’s wondering, like, are they all fuckin’?” 

Tyler’s not wrong. A lot of people have insinuated romantic or sexual intentions on every possible combination of these four. As far as Jon knows, no one’s actually directly asked any of them. That said, a few of the lesser members of Free Play, the guys who come in occasionally, like Josh and Kyle, have adamantly defended the core four’s honour and singlehood. 

“Yeah,” Meg agrees.

“That’s basically-”

Mariel clarifies, “we’re not _all_ fucking.”

“Not all fuckin’,” Tyler attempts to clarify, “but like, is this side fucking,” Tyler gestures to Meg and Ryan, “are we fucking?” He cups his hand over his mouth like he’s telling a secret and says, “we are.”

“We always were,” Mariel chimes in.

“We’ve been trying to fuck you guys for forever!” Meg declares.

“Oh my god, what?!” Mariel peppy housewife exclaims.

“The signal’s out there and you guys just haven’t been picking it up,” Ryan adds.

“For forever!” Meg says.

“I just thought you guys were being nice! I didn’t know!” Tyler says.

“Yeah,” Mariel agrees wholeheartedly.

“Tyler, I’ve been all over you for weeks!” Ryan retorts.

Jon starts laughing, as do they. It takes a socially awkward second to realise their tone of laughter is very different. Hesitant. Questioning. It’s like when people play argue and it turns into a straight up screaming match. Sometimes exaggerated banter hits too much truth. “Um. Uh. Were you ...not joking?”

Meg frowns and looks from Ryan beside her to Tyler and Mariel across. “I dunno. Were we?”

Tyler looks directly at Ryan. “I really did fool around with Baron and another guy.”

Ryan shrugs. “I kissed a guy for a school play. And all the rehearsals.”

Jon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s watching. Should be be taking notes? Is this a bit to entertain future readers? It would be very like them to spontaneously create a text based Free Play bit.

“Not to spread the bisexuals are sluts stereotype, but I’d tap allllll of this.”

Jon can’t help but get the feeling they’re one-upping each other here. Like if one person put the brakes on it would all stop, but not in the normal consent way, in a different, ‘improv doesn’t say no’ way.

Very suddenly Meg straddles Jon’s lap. She pushes her fingers into his long hair, fingernails catching a little, and starts to make out with him. She doesn’t even taste like booze, which takes away his last reasonable explanation of events. But the part begging the universe for reason is tiny. Mostly he’s just enjoying her smell, her kiss, her breasts pushing against his chest. “Tell me, you think I should hook up with them?”

“Only if I’m invited,” Jon jokes. Better than pointing out he’s got a semi and any one of the three would be lucky to have a tryst with her.

“Sold!” Mariel cries out.

“Uh, what?”

“Deal,” Tyler explains, like it was just the definition of Mariel’s word that tripped him up. “It’s a deal. Unless you were joking.”

He was. Of course he was. But he doesn’t want to say that now. Instead Jon turns to the lone mute man in the room. “She said sold, he said deal, she freakin’ made out with me. What’s your stance?”

Ryan leers in a way that’s not over the top, just sluttily delicious. “I know where Charlie’s bedroom is.”

And with that the four of them are standing up, what the fuck, and he’s standing up, what even, and they’re all following Ryan through the mass of partiers and upstairs, what the _fuck_. Half of Jon’s brain is shouting _no seriously, what even now_ , but it’s only forty nine percent and fifty one percent is saying _fuck it, go_. Just enough to win. The room Ryan leads them to is classic teenager’s room left behind, a few signed sports posters, a closet of misfitting shirts and formal clothes. When they’ve gotten the door locked Jon grabs Ryan’s shoulder and kisses him. Because fuck it, go for it. Right?

When they break away he sees that Meg’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail and Tyler's got his shirt off. No wonder he had a fucktrain in a gay bar bathroom, man is riiiiipped. Jon wants to bite him all over.

“So what do we do now?”

“Films would lead me to think sit cross legged on the bed and feel each others breasts and pecs.”

“That’s American Pie!”

“It’s a movie.”

“Can you dredge up a memory from a porno, maybe? It’d be more useful.”

“But like, naked, right? That’s a thing we should do?”

Everyone seems to agree with Ryan. Clothes are shed left and right -shit is he really doing this- until everyone’s stripped down to skin and in a few cases tattoos -fucking yes he is- and then everyone stalls out again. Maybe they’re waiting for a whistle to blow, Jon doesn’t know.

“I think I’m gonna eat Mariel out.” 

It’s a thrown gauntlet, Jon can see it as clear as day. Tyler’s at least bi, he’s made that clear. Meg’s saying step up or shut up to the rest of them. Frankly Jon’s not quite ready for either. He doesn’t have the competitive drive they all seem to. He just wants to watch for a minute. 

Mariel’s stepping up, by far. In face, she’s the one who takes Meg’s hand and pulls her to the green blanketed bed. “It’s been a while but I’m pretty sure all the right stuff’s in all the normal places.”

“Lucky me, getting to see.”

And hello complete and full boner, Jon thinks. He doesn’t even have to feel lesbian fetishization guilt, because Meg is specifically showing off.

Meg’s kneeling doggy style near the end of the bed and after a minute of wet noises she stops and twists towards them. “What, no one’s gonna eat me out? I meant what I said earlier, my labia are fantastic.”

This time it’s Ryan who smears the proverbial grease paint under his eyes and walks up to the line of scrimmage. “Can I fuck you?” Ryan asks.

“You got a condom?” Meg returns.

“I do,” Tyler quickly replies. He takes his wallet out of his crumpled up jeans, and then a packet out of his wallet and hands it to Ryan. “It’s only been in a few hours, It’ll be fine.”

“Wanna see if I can make you come before you make Mariel?”

Meg grins at the challenge. “It’s not exactly fair. I got a head start.”

Ryan gives Meg’s bubble butt a bit of a squeeze. “Yeah, but I’m really good.”

“It’s on!”

Tyler looks from the trio fucking their way up the bed an inch at a time back to him. “We can’t not do something.”

Jon sees a way to get what he wants. He crafts his reply as carefully as he might a paragraph for the zine. “I don’t want to be last in this race any more than you do. But if I blow you I won’t be able to see everyone. Can you keep up a commentary, tell me what’s going on?” 

It’s two kinks with one stone. He does have interest in what the three are doing, but facts are Tyler has a stone dead sexy voice. Like he could do audiobook erotica for a living, or hang out in his pyjamas all day playing video games in between chatline calls. There’s no non-ace woman or man alive that couldn’t jerk it to Tyler’s voice.

According to Tyler, it’s Meg who comes first. She’s not very vocal about it so Jon has no secondary source, but apparently the visual is quite strong, all swaying head and clenched fists. It all sounds so good coming from Tyler. The next thing he really hears is Ryan asking Meg if he can keep going or if she’s too sensitive. A polite question, since it turns out Meg’s one of the rare women who don’t like to be touched after orgasm. Jon never thought that was a thing. Aren’t all women supposed to demand multiple O’s as the lone benefit of being female in a patriarchy? Whatever. Meg knows her own body, and if she wants to perch on Charlie’s dresser watching the rest of them, all the power to her.

“Well I would still like to come,” Mariel points out. “Ryan, you wanna fuck me?”

“Are there more condoms?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “Same place as the last one.”

“Tyler!” Meg squeals.

“My older brother got crabs when I was thirteen. It’s a very formative age. Always have three, that way you save yourself and your friends. And the precautions have come in handy, haven’t they?”

If Jon doesn’t cut in now he won’t have another chance. Not only during this interlude, but ever. There’s no possibility that an orgy will become a standing Friday date. “Actually, wait. Ryan, can I finish you off?”

“Uh, but Mariel?”

“I don’t care if it’s any of the three of you, or Meg again, or a dildo. Go for the reporter, Haywood,” Mariel replies, stretched out luxuriously on the bed.

Sucking Ryan is different from the job Jon just did to Tyler. They’re about the same length. That is, too long unless you can deep throat, which he can’t. That’s the only thing their dicks have in common though. Tyler had more girth, a real jaw stretcher. Ryan’s easier that way, but he curves to the left, which requires a different approach. And then there’s the obvious; Tyler just tasted like skin and precome. Ryan’s still got the plastic funk of the discarded condom.

Mariel and Tyler come in romance movie unison. That he hears. Still doesn’t see, Ryan’s hand on the back of his head would prevent it even if he wanted to pull off. Mariel’s a screamer though. It makes Jon palm himself. Nothing sounds sweeter than a loud orgasm.

Maybe Meg’s watching them more than she’s watching the straight pairing. Maybe her eyes are like motion detectors, and she picked up the errant movement. Whatever her thinking, as soon as Ryan blows it in his mouth she says “it’s not fair if you’re the only guy not blown.”

“Yeah, who’s gonna be the man brave enough to put a dick in his throat?” Mariel challenges. 

From what’s been said Tyler is the gayer of the two. That’s what makes it a little odd that Ryan’s the one to kneel and quirk an eyebrow at Jon until he stands. Still, he’s not in that poor of a position, even for never doing it before. Jon doubts he’ll require much effort. Tonight’s easily been the sexiest night of his life. Gold medal event.

Ten minutes later Jon’s positing a question to himself he never thought would come up. Does it make him a loser, that he came fifth? Or is he a winner because he had his hand in two people’s climaxes and hopefully provided good viewing material for the others? What’s the best orgasm placement in an orgy?

One thing’s certain though. There aren’t going to be seconds. There’s no way this is a two round event, never mind the writhing sinuous weekend long affairs that first come to mind if you think the dirty word ‘orgy’. Mariel and Tyler are already fully dressed, and someone’s tossed Meg’s bra and t-shirt to her. They’re obviously wrapping this up. Not like an awkward sneaking out, trying to be as quiet as possible so no one wakes up thing. More like dispersing a crowd after a Free Play event, body language and other subtle things unconsciously convincing everyone it’s time to leave. Jon’s smart enough to see it, he’s just fine with going along with it.

“Are you still gonna write the article?”

Jon pauses in his redressing to look at Tyler, confused by the question. Why wouldn’t he? “Uh, yeah?”

“Huh,” Ryan says.

“Why?”

“I dunno. Conflict of interest?”

Jon couldn’t disagree with the boys more. “I’m not a cop or a lawyer. I can have sexual relations with that woman -and man- and still write about how funny you are and how everyone should watch you perform at least once.”

“Cool then,” Meg says. She grins widely. “Tell us when it’s about to come out and we’ll peddle it and make sure everyone buys a copy. Get you a shit ton of bucks.”

“Or maybe, one time only, your zine has a pass in it for admission to one of our limited space stunts?” Mariel suggests.

Jon passes his phone to Meg so they can exchange numbers. He’s not sure when the issue will be ready, and he tells them that. Just because he’s going to head home in a few hours with Patrick and JJ and parse his keywords until he’s got a eight hundred word article fitting of their comedy and genuine niceness doesn’t mean everyone else is going to turn in a piece by Monday. Zines aren’t newspapers, after all. But he looks forward to collaborating with them. He can even say that without an insinuating wink, because maybe the real champion of an orgy is the guy who doesn’t make it weird.


End file.
